Note: This piece was written in the summer of 2016 as part of a high school class, “Watershed Wisdom.” It’s dated, but the feelings are still the same.
The pristine water gleams in the early morning light, millions upon millions of tiny crystals glistening and dancing with the sun. Gently pulsating in the light breeze, the serenity of the lake is so complete that its surface appears to be one thin sheet of glass. Only nature can be heard, no motorboats, no jetskiers, nothing to break apart the natural melodies of the day.
This is Door County. Each summer my family rents a cabin with my grandparents for one week at the very northern tip of the peninsula. Europe Lake, a small and remote body of water, is relatively undeveloped, surrounded by only a few log cabins. It is here that I most often feel connected with my family, unplugged from the rest of the world, and in tune with both nature and myself.
Familial connection is one of the reasons why Door County is so special to me. In our normal day-to-day lives, we don’t get to be around each other as much as we hope to, since we are all busy with work, school, and extracurricular activities. Sitting out on the dock, eating dinner on the back porch, or paddling around the lake gives us that chance, and the activities we do out in nature make it meaningful and tranquil. After one glimpse of the evening sunset, or one whiff of pine needles, we all feel refreshed and peaceful. Being unplugged certainly helps to strengthen our connection, because while there are a great number of other possible places to vacation in the world, not very many offer as peacefully isolated of a setting as the beautiful nature of Europe Lake. It provides almost a window to the past, before the times of mega skyscrapers and ultra-connected societies, a time to simply be around loved ones, think, and relax. Wherever I go in life, I hope that I will one day return with my own family.
Being unplugged from the rest of the world goes along with this, something that matters very much to me, and Europe Lake is one of the most isolated places I’ve ever been to. It’s a few minutes drive down a gravel path from our cabin to reach the side road, and takes another 15 minutes to reach the nearest town, which is unincorporated itself. Hardly a soul is ever seen out on the lake, not even fellow neighbors around us. Heading over to town early in the morning, my dad will often pick up some groceries and a newspaper from the old-fashioned “Pioneer Store,” a fitting name for its quaintness and simplicity.
It’s as if Father Time never quite made the hike up I-43, rendering nature and society relatively unchanged for as long as I can remember. Although we do have some of the modern luxuries one would expect today, like a TV, we choose to spend our time out in the environment, savoring the long kayak rides, nature walks, and bike rides that no technological advancement can provide.
There is perhaps no place in nature that I better connect with than a small alcove of Europe Lake, colloquially referred to as “The Secret Spot” by our family. This area, a quiet, secluded marsh, is accessible only by a lengthy kayak ride to a foliage-concealed entryway. Its water even more placid and clear than the rest of the lake, it feels like paddling across liquid glass. Lilypads dot the surface, while water skippers dart away with each and every stroke. Only a solitary fishing dock on the far end indicates any record of human presence in this tiny ecosystem, which feels right. In a world of GPS and social media, it seems that hardly any place goes undocumented or unchanged.
But this one feels different. Many generations from now, the world may be completely transformed. Perhaps there will be flying cars, or interstellar space voyages, or time travel. The latter won’t be necessary here. “The Secret Spot” will remain undisturbed and undeveloped, no matter how many cycles of the sun and the moon it witnesses, a rock parting the stream of time.
The shimmering water laps gently to the shore, shards of moonlight splintering the dark lake. Sitting at the end of the dock on a plastic armchair, I turn my attention upwards. Thousands upon thousands of stars glimmer and shine, each like a single diamond poking through the black fabric of space and time, while streaking across the sky, like an errant paint splatter, is the Milky Way. And here I am, a modern day Thoreau sitting at his pond, wondering, noting, but mostly observing, this wonderfully complex, yet strikingly small, paradise.
Jake Marble 